


If-Then-Else

by architeuthis



Category: DC Extended Universe, DCU
Genre: Erectile Dysfunction, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostate Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 13:43:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16556864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/architeuthis/pseuds/architeuthis
Summary: Bruce is all hopped up on painkillers and not at all ready for action.





	If-Then-Else

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt for erectile dysfunction and prostate orgasm.

Bruce let things go on for longer than he probably should have. Clark's mouth was very pleasant. Clark's mouth was, in fact, gorgeous, and feverishly hot, and _powerful_ , and Bruce could think of nothing he'd rather do at the moment than watch Clark try to get him hard.

It was just that the process might go on indefinitely, at this rate.

"Are you falling asleep?" said Clark, eventually.

"I'm just very relaxed."

"I can tell." Clark licked the head of Bruce's determinedly soft cock.

"You would not believe how dry my mouth is."

"Mm." Clark crawled up Bruce's body. His weight barely depressed the mattress. Bruce had jostled his broken arm more just getting into the damn bed than Clark had in the course of trying to fuck him.

Clark's shirt was not currently in evidence; Bruce's eye naturally followed the flexing contours of Clark's chest and stomach to the open fly of his jeans, and the tent in his red briefs that bulged through it. _He_ was having no trouble, but Clark would approach sex with the gusto of an incongruously experienced nineteen-year-old until the sun burned out, probably. Damn him.

He tipped Bruce's chin up, then ran the backs of his fingers down Bruce's throat. Bruce didn't miss the days of the playboy act, but he did miss having sexual partners with the decency not to go for eye contact immediately after an equipment failure. At least the kissing was good, once Clark had finished looking his fill, and during the wait, watching his smile bloom slowly and his dimples appear was -- fine.

Bruce had been thinking about putting his one operable hand to good use, but for now he slipped it into Clark's hair instead. His already limited focus narrowed and narrowed to Clark's mouth, his pleasant unremarkable smell, his alien body heat. Every time they kissed for any duration, no matter how measured or playful they began, it ended up grappling and desperate; Bruce had yet to determine the culprit, himself or Clark. It was so absorbing that Bruce didn't think twice about it when Clark hooked his elbow behind one of Bruce's knees and drew it up, not until he heard a plastic cap flip open.

"Oh," he said into Clark's mouth. "Good idea." Clark grinned and kissed him again.

The lube must have been in Clark's pocket, which meant he had gotten it from the nightstand quite a while ago. Frankly, Bruce was a little vague about this evening's order of events. Whatever: the lube was as warm as Clark's touch was. He ran his slick fingers past Bruce's balls and along his perineum, pressed them at Bruce's asshole. His middle finger slipped in easily, and Clark's eyebrows shot up.

"You really are relaxed," he muttered, drawing his finger back out. "This usually takes an hour, unless I say something first about justice, or the future, and let you tell me how naive it is." While he talked, Clark began again with two fingers, then reconsidered and tried three. That took a little work from Bruce; he caught his breath and bore down, and Clark gave them to him slowly, lingering at each knuckle so Bruce could feel in great detail the way they stretched him wider. It was the most present Bruce had been since the drugs had kicked in.

"Or it's the first time we're alone since one of us nearly died," Clark was saying. He flexed his fingers against Bruce's prostate, and Bruce inhaled sharply through his teeth. "Or we're on a roof near a crime scene. Preferably a prevented crime, but any crime will do." Bruce was acutely aware of Clark watching his face from not far away, but paid little mind to the rambling until Clark added, "I have a flowchart."

Bruce began to laugh, but thought better of it when a dull warning from his ribs penetrated the haze of painkillers. "Stop amusing yourself at my expense and fuck me."

"Fine," Clark said, with mock belligerence.

It hadn't _not_ been an invitation for Clark to remove his fingers and replace them with his cock, but Clark seemed content for now to fuck Bruce with the former. He did it in slow thrusts, twisting his hand and flexing his fingers as he withdrew them so that Bruce never became unaware of his knuckles, of the not quite smooth or easy shape inside himself.

Bruce finally broke the sweat that twenty minutes of unsuccessful blowjob had not engendered when Clark began to focus on his prostate. At first it was long glancing strokes and incidental flutters of his fingertips, but the motions grew shorter and more precise until Clark was just rocking his hand minutely with his fingers curled inside Bruce and his thumb pressed up against Bruce's perineum. Each little movement sent new shudders through Bruce and pulled new sounds from between his clenched teeth. Now seemed like a good time for his cock to get with the program, but it was as soft as ever, though it leaked onto Bruce's hip in long clear gushes. With each the hot core of pleasure in Bruce's pelvis grew, until it filled him, until he felt it on his tongue, until it crowded out all thought.

He came so violently he jarred every bruise and sprain and fracture he'd gotten today, and so powerfully he didn't give a damn. He was aware, vaguely, of biting hard at the smooth invulnerable slope of Clark's shoulder, and that he'd chosen biting over screaming. He ejaculated in a slow flood that went on for what felt like an hour -- so, at least twenty seconds -- and left him wrung out and trembling.

Clark stroked the sweaty hair from Bruce's forehead. He looked awfully pleased for a man who had probably just rendered his sexual partner essentially useless. Bruce would have to break the news to him and/or fall asleep soon, but right now Clark was leaning down to him, and kissing seemed more crucial.

"Hey," Clark said, but then kissed Bruce again, as though it were an argument they had not completed to his satisfaction. Bruce rejoined the debate with drowsy enthusiasm. Just as they were approaching the point where Clark's hands in Bruce's hair became fists and Bruce began to bite, Clark pulled back a second time, and said again, "Hey."

Bruce opened an eye.

"You can see my flowchart if you help me add more conditions," Clark said.

What pain made it past the drugs was stymied by endorphins. For the moment, Bruce laughed with impunity.

Clark curled up against Bruce's side with his cheek on Bruce's shoulder. He took immense care with the cast and sling, but still managed to nudge his erection unsubtly against Bruce's hip.

"How long until you can do that again, you think?"

"Never. Humans only get one, and you wasted it."

Clark's own laughter must have surprised him; it briefly shook both Bruce and the bed. Bruce took advantage of the way Clark had tucked their bodies together to smile where Clark wouldn't see it.

"Oh well," Clark said. "At least I had fun."


End file.
